We have had a particularly stressful couple of weeks. In
addition to my full time job, which has become more hectic than normal lately,
I’ve also been working on the weekends for my husband’s company.
The other night as we prepared to leave for one of these
work weekends, something snapped. Now, we’ve been married for 11 years and
counting, so we’ve been through a lot of silly little laughs. It’s just been a
while, because we’re both working hard during the day and we generally just
crash in the evenings and try to wind ourselves down for sleep.
But on that night, Luke was asking me a question as he
brushed his teeth. Something came over me and I squirted my toothpaste in a
satisfying, 4 inch glob down the back of his shoulder. It was funny. He was
stunned. I was laughing, my toothbrush still in my own mouth. We were tired, so
he tried to take the high road, handed me a tissue, and resignedly said “get it
off.” I took the tissue, but that’s where my compliance ended… I smeared it
even further down his back.
At this point I am laughing myself silly, doubled over,
still grappling with my toothbrush in my mouth. And as I run over to the sink
to spit, he attacks me from behind. With his blue-green Gillette shave gel,
which by the way is heavily scented, all over my t-shirt, my hair, my face, in
my ear… you get the picture.
And I’m still laughing. I didn’t even try to get him back,
we were both too tired. I just laughed and laughed as I cleaned up the mess and
collapsed into bed, smelling strangely fresh and slightly masculine as the
scent lingered through the night.
Now, you knew this was coming based on the title of the post.
It’s the crying part. We’re coming home the next day from finishing the work we
had to do, each of us driving in our respective vehicles down the highway with
the blue sky overhead. We're hauling our work supplies back home, and I’m listening to the radio for ambient noise and
thinking about nothing in particular.
And that’s when the tears start. It feels like the weeks
after our Liza Jane first died, the pain is intense and fresh and real. I feel
like my heart is being ripped in half, the sensation continues for the rest of
my hour and a half drive as I cry myself all the way home. Now, crying in the
car can be dangerous, so I have to give a big disclaimer to say I didn’t let
myself get completely overwhelmed by it, or double over so I couldn’t see
anything. But I cried, continuously and softly, the whole way home. And I did
this while driving because I’ve learned that you have to take grief as it
comes. When the tears are ready to come out, if at all possible, it is a good
idea to let them flow.
So here I am, thoroughly exhausted from work and grief and
laughter. Thankful for the blessings that are in my life, but still aching for
the baby girl who was taken from me far too early.
